Wind It Up
by Tom Beaumont
Summary: The lost George and Izzie scene from Desire. Hot! Rated M for strong sexual content.


**Wind It Up**

**Rating:** b M /b for sexual content - **parental discretion is STRONGLY advised**  
**The Sizzle:** George, alone at the end of the day, is confronted by his continuing desire for Izzie...and then Izzie confronts him... 

**_Tom Sez:_** _For my friends at FanForum...sort of my take on the supposedly "deleted" locker room scene that may or may not have existed between George and Izzie during "Desire", where they decide if they should or shouldn't get their lusts out of their system..._

_Update (12/6) : This used to be an exclusive at LiveJournal, but with all this "they broke up/they didn't break up" stuff, I've gone back and expanded this white-hot misadventure...and I'm going to share it with my Kind Readers here, and over there, too, once I get the next chapter done...gotta spread the goodness around... _

* * *

It's seven o'clock...four minutes past seven, in fact. You've waited all day for this. Alone time. Time for you. You just need to think. The interns' locker room is dark. Darker than dark. You push in, switch on the light. 

Nobody home. Nobody.

Especially her.

You head to your locker, and on the way, you pass hers.

Izzie's locker. A few spots down from yours. Right there. Where it's always been. Just out of reach.

You shake the romanticism out of your head. Izzie's your friend. Your best friend, and that's all.

Yes, you had sex with her. Yes, it blew your mind. Yes, you did it again.

And again.

And again and again.

But that's over. Overoverover.

So why can't you stop thinking about it? About her. About...about...

She stood next to you all day long, quizzed you, ate cake with you, did everything - well, almost everything - with you. All. Freakin'. Day. You've had so many temptations. Opportunities. Been alone with her on a stairwell, talking about a subject that you honestly cannot remember, and kept your mind on business, whatever the hell that was. Had to grab a suture tray from a supply closet, found her in there, those wide, gorgeous eyes searching for whatever it was she was searching for, and only took the tray.

Sure, you just wanted to grab her, kiss her, fffff...find her...again...but you didn't.

She smells wonderful today.

Her cheeks are glowing softly. That blush or rouge or whatever it is...dynamite stuff.

And you catch a glimpse of her moving hair out of eyes and all you can think about is that it reminds you of when a wisp of hair landed on her face during the middle of the third time you -

- you catch yourself before the trap snaps. You have to. Think about something else, dammit.

Callie - yes, think about your wife - Callie...she's already at home. Home. Good. And at home, she is waiting. Callie is waiting. And dinner...yeah, dinner, keep going...she's ordered those really good cheeseburgers from room service...the ones you like...all hot and juicy...

...and hot...and your mouth starts watering a bit...

Completely out of nowhere, the thought of Izzie's glorious bare chest jiggles gently across your mind.

...makes you drool...

Oh, dear sweet merciful...

What are you, freakin' Pavlov's freakin' dog? Freakin'? You start taking off your scrubs, your blood gradually settling to a simmer. You feel the mantra building. You have willpower. You have control. You have...

...a tent...

...what the hell?

Suppress it...suppress it...think about something else...think about anything else...bite your lip...lean over...hit something...distract your nerves...something...

"Hey," you hear behind you.

Your heart sinks while - another organ - refuses to waver. No...not now...don't look...don't look...

"George," she says, her words halting. "Today. Crazy, huh?"

Go away, you think. Either Izzie or...this physiological nightmare...the biological imperative run amok...

"I think we're okay, though, right?" she asks.

Say something. If you say something, maybe she'll leave, or it'll leave, or...as long as you don't turn around, you should be fine.

"You okay?" she asks, after what may have been the longest silence in recorded history.

Answer her, stupid! "Yeah," you lie. "It's my back. That guy in three-nineteen. Heavy."

"Yeah," she laughs. It's music to your ears.

"Well, I gotta change," you say, trying to let her out of the conversation. "Gotta get home."

"Right," she says. "Me, too." But she doesn't leave.

"Okay, then," you say. You can't decide which is more disappointing, that Izzie is still standing behind you, or that the damn thing in your scrub pants won't even shift, and your back really is beginning to ache from being hunched over. But you aren't going to stand up...any more than you already are...

And time just passes. And passes.

"George," she says finally. "I...uh...uhhh..."

Silence again. You want to shout. What?! What is it, Izzie?! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO -

"I want you," she finishes. "Again."

That makes your back snap up. As far as it can, anyway.

"I know," she says, apparently noticing your posture change. "It's...it's ridiculous. And wrong and insane...but...all day...all freakin' day...and you're so close to me...and I just had to say something...'cause it's killing me..."

And you turn around. As you do, her eyes catch on your protrusion.

She tries to speak. Tries to evade. Can't.

You frown with all the frustration. "I'm stuck. I'm stuck in the 'on' position." You blow out a breath. "Thinking about you all day. Denying I was thinking about you all day. Now, you are right here and...and...I want this - thing - to go away. Just...collapse." You shake your head, and your voice drops into hungry desperation. "But it won't. 'Cause you're here with me. And we're alone. And I'm looking at you...and my heart is pounding...and all I can think about is if there's a lock on that door...and if there is, I wonder how long it will take me to get you naked."

Izzie swallows hard. Her eyes close. You wonder if you've said too much.

Then she opens those orbs again. Bites her reddening lower lip. Takes off her coat. "That door doesn't lock," she says, stripping off her long-sleeve t-shirt as she backs away. "The shower door, however, is a deadbolt..."

There's her jiggling chest again. Not bare yet...but it will be...

...oh, yeah...it will be...

And she laughs with the knowledge that you are following her where she wants you to go...and you laugh because it's where you want to go, too...again...and again...

* * *

_**...will there be more?**_

_**...count on it... **_


End file.
